The Daedric Wager
by Bamboofoxfire Productions
Summary: Two Daedric Princes make a wager spawned from boredom that escalates Skyrim's Civil War, resulting in a third side neither counted on happening. Things just got a lot more interesting.
1. Chapter 1

**The Daedric Wager  
A Skyrim Fanfiction  
**

* * *

Clavicus was almost surprised enough to be rendered speechless. It wasn't every day another Daedric Lord visited his little sanctuary... if one could call the ass end cave known as Haemar's Shame at the base of the biggest mountain in Skyrim a 'sanctuary'. He was a little less surprised by which Daedra it was, at least, which made the surprise a little less offensive.

"Well I can certainly say I did not expect this... to what do I owe the... uh... whatever this is, Sanguine?"

The Daedric Lord of debauchery examined the cave space with an appraising eye, an expression of mock impressment on his gray-and-red Dremoran face. "Nice place," Sanguine hummed. "Decorate it yourself?"

Clavicus couldn't decide if the intended banter was humorous or annoying. Maybe a little of both. "Oh, ha ha. Come up with that one all by yourself? I hope you're here for a reason, and it better be a fun reason." Especially being that he was rather confined these days. Not much to see, not much to hear, always with someone stumbling upon his shrine looking to fill some insipid and uncreative wish that only sometimes served to entertain him... for a short while.

"Oh, no particular reason. Boredom, I suppose... speaking of fun, its so hard to find mortals that serve for a good amount of entertainment these days."

"No kidding," Clavicus couldn't help but agree.

"I heard your hound ran out on you."

"Now hold on a moment, that no good mutt didn't run out on _me_ , _I_ am the one who sent him on his way! And good riddance, too! Now I have one less thorn in my side to bring irritation each and every day," the Daedric Lord fumed. A little more tentatively, he added, "Of course, its also been rather boring... since that damn dog took a good portion of my power with him, and I'm completely stuck here without him. Do you know how _dull_ it is staring at the same rock wall day in and out? So sure, occasionally a few mortals wander through, but they're a fleeting distraction at best."

"Nope, can't say I relate," Sanguine shrugged his black armored pauldrons. "I've been too busy getting it on with drinks and parties."

"Lucky you," Clavicus retorted dryly.

Sanguine merely shrugged again. "Well if its really as boring here as you say, then I think I'll find some place else to be."

"Wait, wait, wait, wait! You show up and decide you're just going to leave like that? You're the Daedric Lord of entertaining, so do something to entertain me!" The fact that he had no power to actually command another Prince wasn't lost on him, but it was a moot point as far as he was concerned.

"And what fun is there to entertaining a statue? You can't even drink. All you do is stand there in the same pose."

"Well you're no fun..." Clavicus accused childishly, voice pouting where stone lips failed to do so.

" _'No fun'_? Well I'm the life of every party! I think you've been stuck in that statue too long."

"Preaching to the choir on that one. Alright, fine, if you have no ideas on how to cure the boredom, maybe I have a suggestion. Some woman came by the other day - or maybe it was a few days? I don't know, I can't tell time down here - and said something about wishing for a stop to some war going on across Skyrim. Maybe we can make a wager..."

Sanguine seemed interested but wary. "What kind of wager?"

"Well, wars have sides, don't they? Maybe we could... shake things up a little. It could be fun. Like playing chess. I've already got some interesting pieces on the board. What do you say, Sanguine? It could be a chance to spread your kind of fun."

"Conquering and warring is more Mehrunes Dagon's kind of fun... my kind of fun is whoring, drinking, and merriment. Why don't you go and bother him instead?"

"Do I look like I can _go_ anywhere else to bother another Lord with this? Besides, I never said you had to partake in conquering and fighting. Inaction wins or loses wars too... and I never said you had to stop at manipulating just one side of the war. Your part of the wager could be ending it with drinks and song and whatever other things it is you do... mine could be trying to end it a little more... messily, let's just say. Mortals are rather unpredictable, lowly creatures. There's no telling in what way it will end, especially if they're getting a few extra pushes for both directions..."

Sanguine hummed, crossing his arms. Still, he had nothing better to do. This might give him at least a small bit of spurious entertainment.

"How will you play if you're trapped here though? Won't it be unfair to you when I have a much higher chance of winning?"

"Oh no, you have it all wrong. You see mortals, like all other lowly animals, are prone to fight more than they are to get along and let bygones be bygones. If anything, this just levels the playing field. You're going to need my handicap if you actually want a chance."

Sanguine hummed, not really fully agreeing but not seeing a point in arguing it further. Clavicus at least seemed confident in his words.

"Fine, then. A wager it is."

* * *

 **A/N:** I'm taking suggestions for some characters :3 I already have a Nord Listener(Dark Brotherhood) character fully fleshed out and decided, and maybe another that's Dragonborn. I'm still kind of deciding/in need of characters for the College/Mages, Companions, and Thieves though, and maybe some with the Legion/Stormcloaks. Its very important that I have characters for the Guilds though, so feel free to suggest some ideas for race, equipment, social/political status, character history, etc. Doesn't have to be strictly lore-friendly in all aspects but something that would still fit into TESV decently well. Mind you, whatever ideas you send, I'll probably still tweak them a bit as I see fit.


	2. Chapter 2

**The Daedric Wager  
A Skyrim Fanfiction  
**

* * *

A loud _CRUNCH_ ended the screaming, but the sound echoed a few seconds longer throughout tunnels of carved earth and rock. Crimson freckled the soil a deep maroon, none of it his own.

The first few had thought nothing of him. Why would they? By comparison, he was small and unassuming, and though it was only half-truth, all they'd seen of him as he entered was _Nord_. It didn't matter to them that he was young, he was the enemy to be killed, though in that way, they saw things much the same. He took on a few of them and won, having more experience for his age than most would, but only because of unfortunate circumstance.

When more came running, thinking him an easy enough target, he changed form, and that was when their hate became replaced with raw fear, so thick in the air that he could smell it mingling with the scent of blood from those slain.

 _"Black Wings!"_ they'd shrieked. Suddenly it dawns on them that the Nord before them is only half of the truth; the other half is a curse they can't escape from, though they've tried hard to be rid of it in the past.

Some were brave enough to charge at him, but they fell quickly. The rest fled, and he hunted, made them cower like newborn hares, and it made his blood hot and fast with exhilaration when they screamed in terror until he ripped them apart into silence.

A blade into his back from one that turned desperate and dumb after watching his tribe-brothers and sisters fall was a dull pain compared to the overriding desire to kill.

 _Kill them. Kill. Kill. Kill. All of them. Every one. Kill! Kill! Wipe them out! Every last one! Kill! Kill! Kill! Kill!_

Soon the only sound is the roar of an ocean in his ears. The ocean is red, and he's covered in it. The only thing he sees is corpses at his feet and those still running that he leaps upon, hackling wildly. When there are no more to run away, he starts to hunt the corners, rip apart spaces where they might be hiding and scatters barrels and other objects, splitting the wood apart and leaving no box or sack unturned. The blood that covers him ends up streaked across many of the objects he overturns.

There are no more to kill, but his searching gave him something to destroy in the meantime, frenzy finding an outlet that he would not be reprimanded or punished for later. When he manages to drag his feet back to the entrance, the light of day is overwhelming to his single eye, and for a while he merely lingers in the doorway.

The taste of blood was still strong in his mouth - _their_ blood. Spilling it was great, but tasting it is the foulest thing he could think of, and he spit it out in disgust. Glancing at himself, his black clothes were stained in it. He sighed, inconvenienced, but there was no getting around it. Just down the way was Karth River, where he could wash it from his clothes and skin.

The Kolskeggr miners had already been waiting weeks for someone to clear out the Forsworn invaders. He didn't think they'd be heartbroken to wait a few more hours to hear that the task was done, only because he needed to rid his appearance of their spilled blood.

Making his way down the hill off the side of the main road, he picked his way to the falls and shed his feathered cloak, dipping it first in the water and rinsing the blood from it, then hung it off the branches of a nearby tree to drip-dry, though he held out little hope that the sun would actually reach it or that it would dry beyond being damp.

He shed the rest of his clothing and stepped into the water and beneath the falls, letting it wash the rest away and shivering at the icy cold against his too-thin frame, the black feathers along his shoulders and back prickling against the chill.

He closed his eye and tried to ignore it, letting his mind drift under the roar of the falls, but it was too much like the roar of battle in his ears as he slaughtered _them_ , and his mind kept conjuring the sight of them fleeing and screaming, of blood splattering the ground and walls, and he opened his eye to take in the blue-gray sky instead.

He moved from the water back to land, and suddenly he felt light-headed, collapsing to his knees as soon as he pulled himself from the river. The cold numbing him wasn't enough to explain his dizziness, and - _oh... right..._ \- suddenly he felt and remembered the heat of the wound in his back which was deep and still bleeding quite freely.

He focused on the wound and felt flames flicker to life, burning blood and flesh alike until it was sealed shut, cauterized by raw flame. The dizziness he would simply have to tolerate until it passed, standing unsteadily and retrieving his clothing and cloak to put back on, though they were still wet.

Climbing up the hill again was a chore and test of his patience, and he still had a ways to go. Halfway up the road from Kolskeggr towards Markarth, he whistled shrilly, and waited for a deep-maroon, almost-black horse to appear from behind a rise of rocks and gallop down to meet him, its eyes shining a bright red.

Heaving himself up into the saddle - a daunting task in and of itself, considering he was already greatly lacking in height compared to other men and mer, never mind comparing his size to a draft horse - he rode the rest of the way to Markarth, slouching over the arched neck of the daedric mare.

He reported that the mine was cleared of Forsworn to two men whose names he neglected to catch because he didn't care to remember them, received his thanks and money - though he would have done it even without those things, just for a chance at getting a little closer to wiping them off the face of Nirn - and continued on his way to the Hold's city.

Just as he was sliding out of Shadowmere's saddle, he sensed movement and a presence behind him. Almost as soon as a hand had clapped onto his shoulder and a voice said "Excuse me?", he whirled around and lunged, running their backs to a wall with his ebony blade already poised to kill if need be, or even if he simply decided to.

The man's breathing etched towards panic and held up his hands in surrender, eyes wide and watching the blade.

"What do you want?" the black-clad youth demanded, his unintimidating height a direct contradiction to the spine-shivering feral snarl in his tone.

"Easy! I'm only a courier! I-I was told to deliver a letter!" the man explained quickly. More quietly, and with a discreet glance around, he added, "Y-you are a member of the Dark Brotherhood, correct?"

The younger assassin scowled, single blue eye narrowed into a slit. "A letter from who?" His first - really, his _only_ guess - was Nazir bothering him about something he had no care for or desire to do, unless it was another contract for a hit.

"General Tulius, of the Imperial Legion," the man told him, licking his lips nervously.

"And what in Oblivion would the _Legion_ want?" The very mention of them, especially after what the Penitus Oculatus had done, made him visibly bristle, almost going so far as to snarl.

"I don't know what its about. I just deliver the messages, not read them." He rummaged for the letter and presented it, letting the short male take it and open it up to read.

He quickly scanned over the finely-written words, not a letter out of place, and scoffed. _The nerve...!_

Snapping an eye up at the courier, who had been steadily inching away, he truly did snarl at this point and feinted a lunge, snapping, "Get lost!" The courier wasted no time in doing so, disappearing around the corner of the road at a full sprint.

Fuming, Faulklin took the paper and crumpled it between his hands, intending on throwing it to the ground and lighting it on fire. He got to the point of almost throwing it, arm already in-swing, but stopped himself from going that far.

He wanted to just throw it away and be done with it. Burn it out of existence. Maybe even burn the ones who _sent_ the damn thing in the first place out of existence. Some voice in the back of his mind told him that was a bad idea, and that he was being too hasty. Not surprisingly, it sounded like Nazir's.

After going still for many moments, he heaved a sigh that sounded more akin to a growl. He didn't want anything to do with the letter that was delivered to him, but he decided he would at least bring it to the senior Redguard assassin and let the rest of the Brotherhood deal with it as they wanted. He at least owed the man and Babette that much, considering the were the only truly loyal members of the twisted little group he once thought of as something like a family.

That, he supposed, meant he had no choice but to depart for Dawnstar.

* * *

The main hall was in an uproar, but it was the best kind of an uproar. Drink was flowing and meat roasted over flame, both filling the room with a mix of fragrances that accompanied loud laughter and talking. It was a good distraction. The noise and buzz of mead and the taste of tearing, juicy flesh between teeth was overwhelmingly festive, and that was what she needed.

Time had lapsed by, month after month, but the pain of remembrance - the death of Kodlak, fallen by the blades of the Silver Hand - was still too fresh and raw. She could not think of it, refused to let it fester in her mind, because if she did, she would fall into a deep spiral that would be hard even for sharpened claws to pull herself out of.

Her skin itched with restlessness and the fine human hairs on her skin prickled with it. She didn't need to look outside their home to know that the moon was full, and it tugged at her very being, the same as it tugged the waves of the sea into land, stirring a need to move. Unspoken was a similar tension of many of her shield-brothers and sisters, even those who didn't share in her hot blood and bestial instincts.

It was a contagious, joyful madness, and she was the first to tip off the edge, challenging it the same as she would challenge any foe that stood in her way or pursued her.

Smashing her tankard against the wood of the table, she half-leapt up onto the table, one boot planted atop it and the other on her chair, barking out "Brothers and sisters! Are there any who would think they can challenge and defeat me, Astasl Norsi Whiteman?! Raise your fists!"

Its a general challenge aimed at no one. If one answers her challenge, that is good. If twenty want to leap at her throat(she doesn't stop to remember there are not twenty members to their faction at the moment, it doesn't matter right now), even better. It is a good night filled with good energy to spar and romp.

Another Nord named Torvar is the first to answer her challenge, a drunken man who is often bitter of those positioned above him, but he is one of the best brawlers. The second is an Imperial woman by the name of Ria, newer to their group but determined to prove herself, but Astasl takes her on no less seriously than she does Torvar even if the victory is easier.

From Torvar, she gets a bruise to her arm from multiple blocked punches and a split lip where one hit connected, but she returns him a few better with many solid blows into his ribs that leave him breathless and one solid crack to his jaw that sent him sprawling into a short flight of steps. From Ria she receives one good hook just beneath her ribs, but she returns it and her own punch winds the other woman so much that she doubles over, and that is won.

By then, another Nord known as Farkas steps up, who has been there even longer than she has, both having been raised in Jorrvaskr since they were young. She and him have scrapped so many times that they've lost count, but they each gain as many victories against each other as they lose, holding a long-term rivalry since she was a child and he was some years older than that.

They don't even waste time on words, leaping straight into grappling and punching until they are thoroughly tangled, but its a fight they've done many times. Other nights, Farkas would win, but she is too bound up with energy and outlasts his stamina, besting him and wolfishly howling her victory around the hall. Somewhere in the corner, a large wolf that belongs to one of her Shield-brothers who is an Orc howls with her instinctively.

Its not long before there's loud and angry knocking on one of the doors that interrupts their festivities. Some of the older warriors - Vilkas and Skjor - look like they're about to get up and answer it, likely because they're the most tactful of the remaining members. She beats them to it, almost wrenching the doors off the hinges as she does so and barking at the guard standing outside, "What?!"

The young man - she doesn't recognize him, he's probably a new recruit to the ranks, put up to complaining about their noise by the senior guards - looks startled for a moment, then clears his throat and tries to look authoritative. She thinks its amusing, considering how awkward he comes across.

"I'm going to have to ask you to keep the noise down." He's trying to make his voice deeper than it is, as if that will make his command more considerable. "Its bothering all of the other neighbors in town."

"If they are sad they were not invited, then they can come join us if they want," she retorts instead, cockily. The young guard is obviously taken aback by her remark. "If not, then you can run home. We are only having fun."

He clears his throat again. "I will only give you one more warning-"

He doesn't get to finish as she lunges, snapping her teeth. He's so intimidated(she's taller and much more muscular, so it isn't surprising) and startled by the action that he leaps back, trips, and falls backwards down the stairs. She laughs, entirely unashamed.

"Make us," she challenges, grinning all-teeth as he tries to pick himself off the ground without showing how much he's blushing with embarrassment. Just to further taunt him, she howls like a wolf again. Loudly.

He straightens himself out, and instead of returning up the steps to challenge her, he instead turns tail and sprints towards Dragon's Reach to report her defiance to his superiors. She doesn't care, she will challenge them too if they dare tell _her_ what to do in her own territory, when she is having so much fun and is buzzed with mead and so moon-drunk as she is.

She breathes in the night air, feeling the light of the moon reach her skin and make her quiver with its pull. She decides right then that she wants to run, as far and as fast as possible, not because she's scared of anything, and certainly not the Whiterun guards, but just because she can and she is too restless to stay still.

As if reading her mind, the Orc who is her Shield-brother and her friend appears beside her with his wolf companion, telling her "Wherever you're going, I'll go too."

She only nods and heads for the Underforge, which will take her straight out to the wilds. She needs to be free and to run and to hunt, even if she is only hunting the wind and the moonlight. Its in her blood, pulling at her soul and her very being.

As soon as they reach the exit of the crude tunnel, she transforms, letting the Beast form take her, fur springing along her body, claws distending from her fingers, her jaws elongating and baring razor sharp fangs and a tail extend out from her spine. She isn't even fully through her transformation when she leaps from the ledge and crashes into the grass, sprinting across the ground on all fours. There is a pair of heavy impacts behind her, her Orcish companion transforming to match her and the wolf accompanying them both.

The wind stings at her face and bushes pull at her fur, while every step with all four of her limbs pushes her on and she can feel the frost and dirt beneath them, and then jutting stone as they circle the back of Whiterun Hold and Dragon's Reach.

Into the night, they come upon two mages throwing spells at each other, who soon turn their attention to the two werewolves, but they are quick to fall beneath the claws and fangs of both beasts, dressed only in their thin robes that are easily torn asunder.

They come across a bandit camp some ways north with four bandits, easily taking them down as well, though not without first taking a few arrows. The wounds are not as bad as they could be, the corpses fresh and the feasting on fresh meat good. Only briefly they stop to drink at a stream just outside, before splashing across it and racing over the tundra.

Their hunger is already satiated, now they only want to run, so they don't keep their voices to themselves, and instead howl and yip. Animals and startled humans alike scatter out of their way, and by the time anything regroups to attack them, they are already gone, far across the wild grasses.

When they have almost crossed the entire tundra, arriving at Gjukar's Monument, is when their lycan blood tires and reverts them to their original forms, coated in sweat from the long run and naked under the moonlight.

Happily, Astasl howls her joy of the night and running and hunting to the moon. The wolf, Rogsha, howls with her. Wild wolves in the distance howl in return. Her Orc companion, Gashum, is silent.

Its as they are howling that someone approaches from the road, calling out, "Excuse me!" Her head snaps up to a man dressed in green. When he notices how undressed they are, he suddenly turns bashful, shielding his eyes and looking off to the side while also trying to kind-of look at them. He is more shy of them than they are of themselves, but werewolf transformations often end nude, and she's gone through transformations so many times since she was young that she's stopped noticing. "You are members of the Companions, yes?"

"He is a member," she confirms, pointing at Gashum. "I am the Harbinger."

She smiles unashamedly at how much more self-conscious the stranger becomes at her announcement of guild leadership, muttering something she can't quite catch but is recognizable as an exasperated complaint. He tries to hide it by announcing, "I am supposed to deliver an important letter to you, addressed from the Legion."

"What does the Legion want from me?" She tilts her head.

"You'll have to read and find out for yourself. I'm only to deliver it."

She nods, taking it from him and getting too much entertainment from his squeamishness. He's gone before she can get all the way through the letter, pursing her lips. The contents are interesting, but she is uneasily unsure what to think of it. This is something best discussed amongst her elders.

* * *

Its bad enough he can't even walk in and out the front doors _or_ the back ones - no Khajiit allowed inside city walls, they say. Can't be trusted, they say! _Hmph_... - and that he has to climb over the walls every time he wants to return to the Cistern, but now he is also hungry, and he's pretty sure that feeding upon guild mates would be frowned upon, especially if they contracted what he has.

If only finding a meal elsewhere inside city walls was quite so easy, but of course as it turns out, there are many problems with trying to do this.

First, there were those pesky guards. Why couldn't he get the city with the lazy guards? But no. They were always on time, marching, patrolling - it was infuriating enough to make his tail twitch!

Second, there was no one inside city walls that was walking around where there were no guards. If he went to the Bee and Barb, probably someone would tell on him and have him thrown out or arrested, and that was only if they didn't notice his long sabre fangs and realize he was not just an ordinary Khajiit but a vampire as well.

Also, it was much harder to stalk prey when one's fur is white with pink scars that make him look striped. The scars hurt when he got them but at least - in his own opinion - they did not end up looking too bad once they had healed. If anything, they only make him look like more of a force to be reckoned with.

But back to the point, why could the Thieves not have their headquarters somewhere more welcoming to Khajiit and more covered in snow? At least then he could blend a little bit, sneak up more easily.

Ah, but he supposed most of his prey would probably be hiding inside where it is warm anyway. Then again, he didn't fancy the cold much either. His fur was not really as suited to this weather as he thought it should be when it came to thickness and keeping him warm, but there was nothing to be done for that anyway. At least his color would not give him away, but in The Rift, everything was so dark and rustic.

He watched a guard patrolling the back streets from the roof of a building above the Thieve's secret-but-not-really-so-secret entrance, hissing under his breath, "Come on, just a little farther... go away already." He wanted them to turn the corner so he could keep stalking about. Maybe he would see that priestess who came to pray at the Shrine of Talos at the back of the city.

Instead, he ended up skulking around, ducking through gates and tunnels to keep from being seen so he would not be thrown out or jailed. He almost steps out from behind a wall straight into a guard - what a hard thing to explain _that_ would be! - but backpedals and waits to hear if she saw or heard him. She hasn't, so he peeks his head out.

She smells like she would have good, tasty blood, and he considers his options. A paralysis spell would keep her quiet, and he has space to drag her out of sight and partake in his desired meal. He almost goes through with it, but another guard across the way spots him and goes on alert, foiling his plans, and he ducks into hiding.

"What was that?" one barks.

"What was what?"

"I thought I saw something..."

Drat! His white fur betrayed him. Nothing else to be done for it now. While they are still cautiously approaching the opening - he can hear their hesitant steps - he cast a spell to make himself invisible and quickly crept away. The spell would not last long.

Ducking into the crypt, he pressed a button so that the stone slid back and revealed the entrance, which he made sure shut behind him before entering the Cistern.

"This one was so close, too..." he muttered unhappily. He was very hungry... maybe his guild mates would not mind if he took just a _little_ blood from them? Surely? He could even get one of them while they were sleeping... they didn't even need to know. What was a little blood amongst faction members?

Walking into the main room, he spotted a figure poised over a desk and open book on the far wall, pricking his ears. Upon closer inspection as he walked, he could see that the form was feminine, with long, dark hair. It was probably Riaien, the guild master. She always smelled so nice... her blood was probably delicious.

He casually walked around the far side of the room until he was out of her sight, and snuck the rest of the way to be behind her. He could already smell her scent, tantalizing his senses. He tried not to lick his lips for fear of the noise, creeping closer towards her neck-

"Don't-" her voice warned, and the slight pressure of a blade against one thigh threatening his sensitive anatomy halted him, making every hair stand up. "-even think about it."

Admittedly, he chuckled and purred a little, impressed despite himself. Sharp senses, this one.

"How did you know?"

"Easy to see, with that fur," she told him. Again with his fur! "And your eyes shine more when you're hungry."

He hummed, daring to lean a little closer and breath in her ear. "Just a little taste? This one doesn't really bite, just nibbles a little..."

"Only if you want to get neutered tonight, Kitty." The edge of the blade in-hand emphasized her point, and he pouted as he stepped back.

"Fine, have it your way. Maybe another time, you will be convinced?" he proposed, hoping beyond hope.

"Not likely." She paused, not looking up from her book. "Did you climb over the walls again?"

"The guards do not like Khajiit," he supplied. "Bhuaji thinks they would like him even less than others."

"Probably right about that," Riaien retorted.

From across the way, a blond woman - older than Riaien - dressed in black approached. Maybe he hadn't struck out yet after all, smiling slyly and approaching. It probably wouldn't be as good of blood as the brunette's, but food was food at this point.

"Excuse me, but maybe... I could have just a little-"

She had a blade out just as fast, threatening his throat this time and barking even more harshly, "Not on your life, _cat_."

He held up his paws in surrender, letting her bypass him and muttering to himself, "These Thieves women have more claw and tooth about them than Khajiit do..." How ever was he supposed to get a decent meal around this place?

"Hey, Riaien," the blond greeted, smacking a letter down over the book. The wax seal was already broken. "Message for you. I figured you'd like to see it for yourself."

Blinking, Riaien picked it up and scanned the contents. Hoping to get just a quick snack at least, Bhuaji crept closer behind the blond, but she sensed him coming a mile away and whirled on him before he could, threatening him with obscenities and promises of injury in the meantime.

"Vex, think we can trust it?" Riaien finally voiced, breaking up their little spat.

"I dunno," Vex stated, placing a hand on her hip and watching Bhuaji out of the corner of one eye. "It might not hurt to hear them out, but even so... we should approach this cautiously."

Riaien hummed agreement.

* * *

A gasp interrupted the nightmares. No surprise, it was her own. She was just lucky she didn't set something on fire this time.

The candles were still lit, chasing away the shadows. Good.

 _Relax... breathe..._ she told herself. _Nothing there... there's nothing there..._

Even so, she cast a wary look about the space. Some hanging moss draped down from a wall, and the only sound was the faint howl of icy winds outside the stone bricks of castle walls. She ran either hand down the sides of her face, massaging the pits of tired eyes.

Why couldn't she just get _one_ night of proper rest? _One_ was all she asked!

"Ugh..."

She flung off the blankets and shifted to the edge of her bed, stretching out legs that had grown tense and stiff from bad dreams. The cool touch of the solid stone floors beneath her feet reminded her that _this_ was reality - the nightmares were only figments of her imagination; they _couldn't_ hurt her.

She cast Candlelight, a ball of light hovering over her so that she wouldn't have to leave its protection, keeping the shadows around her away. They could surround her at the far fringes, but not touch her. She was safe.

 _Here is safe._

Her shelves were lined in many things, from cast iron cooking pots to excavated skulls to books to ingredients for brewing potions. Her mind was already set on a glimmering bottle of Alto wine, some bread that was probably quite stale by now, and some very-aged cheese.

If nothing else, the wine would help calm her nerves.

She sat at the edge of her garden, thriving under the shine of several Magelight spells to act like sun.

A bare tree from somewhere in The Reach acted as a nursery to cultivate several large specimens of Glowing Mushrooms. There was a variety of other ground mushrooms as well - Namira's Rot and Blisterwort, hiding somewhere beneath other plants, she was sure there was also Bleeding Crowns and White Caps and Imp Stools and Fly Aminitas. There were mountain flowers in all varieties of pink, red, blue, and purple. A patch of fluffy Tundra Cotton. Beads of bright red hung from the branches of a Snowberry bush, and behind them, Spiky Grass poked upwards with fuzzy cattails perched at the top. The red veins of a Creep Cluster wove around a small boulder, and a solitary Juniper tree gave them shade. More beautifully, Dragon's Tongue and Death Bells decorated the edges, and behind them poked up a small ridge of a Chorus egg pod. Then there were the Fungal Pods, that looked like huge, creepy, bulbous eyes staring back at her. Somewhere in the mix she knew there was also Thistle and Giant Lichen and Nordic Barnacles and Jazbay and Canis Root.

She quite literally had one of every kind of plant in Tamriel, except for Nirn root.

She had enough nightmare problems and nyctophobia without keeping a moaning fern in her quarters.

She couldn't quite tell the hour from the high windows, but guessed it was at least somewhat close to morning. Wondering if anyone else was awake - company might do her some good - she left her quarters to enter the Hall of Elements one level below her room.

As soon as she entered, the sound of en explosion made her jump, almost spilling her food and drink.

"Aaaaand, one more..." The male voice was accompanied by the crackle of a spell between both hands, before a missile of fire went flying and exploded, quite loudly. "Boom!"

Peeking into the chamber, she saw a teenaged figure, hair nothing more than peach fuzz atop his head and his skin dark enough that it was a little difficult to see him. She recognized him as one of the newer students, though he'd been with the College for a couple of years by this point. Darinel was a good student, though sometimes a little loud, and he excelled at Alteration and Destruction magick.

"Alright, and another time!" he declared at no one, hand lighting up with a spell that she instantly recognized and lamented as Conjuration magick. An apparition in the form of a wolf appeared, making her hair stand on end. She told herself that it was nothing to worry about - it was only a lesser Familiar created by one of her students, nothing out of the ordinary or particularly dangerous - but her hand twitched with the need to blast it into Oblivion as if it never existed.

As it turned out, she didn't have to, because Darinel did the blasting instead until the Familiar disappeared. It was a crude way of training one's Conjuration skills, but it was a common method. He summoned it again, and the urge to destroy it returned until it was dispelled by Darinel's Destruction attacks. She decided to interrupt, before he could summon another.

"Practicing Conjuration?" She internally cursed the way her voice wavered a little bit. Was she really so weak that she couldn't hide her unease about such a minor thing?

He turned to look at her, surprised, and rubbed the back of his head sheepishly. "Yeah... it takes a long time though. Gotta keep summoning stuff over and over to get he hang of it..."

"You haven't been up all night practicing, have you?" Not that it was unusual, especially for some of the younger students. She knew he had stayed up many nights practicing his spells before as well. It was difficult for her to say if he was talented for his age or just a much harder worker at it than his peers.

"Nah, not _all_ night. Like... half of it, I guess?" She wondered how true that was. He liked to boast about his skill. He wasn't quite so eager to boast - or complain - about the work he put in to get there. She didn't know if it was because of modesty or bravado. Either way, he shrugged as if it was nothing.

She wasn't in a mood to dote and act motherly. Not that she doted over her students on a normal standard anyway.

A loud knock came from the main doors, echoing off the tall walls and interrupting their discussion. She knew it wasn't a student(students never knock there, they just let themselves in if the doors are unlocked, which they are), so she was baffled at who it could be at such an hour.

Answering it, she was greeted by a cold-pink face waiting out in the snow and realized that it was a courier.

"Hello. Got something I'm supposed to deliver. Is the Archmage, Iirilwe, in?"

"I am she," Iirilwe confirmed patiently.

"Ah! Perfect." He presented her with a letter. "This is for you."

"Thank you," she told him, excusing him with a nod before shutting the door.

She set her food and drink aside before breaking the wax seal and unfolding the letter to read it.

Ever the curious one, Darinel appeared close to her side, craning to see it.

"What does it say?"

* * *

 _Dear Guildmasters,_

 _You are hereby given formal invitation to attend a meeting with the Imperial Legion in Dragon's Reach in Whiterun on Turdas, the 23rd of Hearthfire, generously facilitated by Jarl Balgraaf the Greater, to take place in the halls of his Hold._

 _Attending will be General Tullius and Legate Rikke of the Legion army, with a proposal for alliance against the rebellion led by the traitorous usurper, Ulfric Stormcloak, and his ilk. All of the four major guilds - yourselves included - are expected to attend, as citizens of the Empire. Terms and responsibilities of such alliance will be arranged and agreed upon to the benefit of all sides at the location of the meeting. An overseer from the Aldmeri Dominion will also be attending the meeting._

 _We look forward to your cooperation and attendance._

 _~General Tullius, Military Governor of the Province of Skyrim_


	3. Chapter 3

**The Daedric Wager  
A Skyrim Fanfiction**

* * *

Faulklin scoffed. Maybe it was directed at the clouds drizzling water from the sky. Maybe it was at his companion. Or perhaps nothing at all.

Maybe "at everything" was the best choice.

"So did anyone tell these idiots they scheduled a meeting in the same place, on the exact same day?"

The Alik'r-dressed Redguard didn't humor him with a glance. "Its been more than a week since the letters were sent out. I'm sure word has gotten back to them about it by now."

"And if it hasn't?" It was a long way back to Dawnstar, so perhaps it was a little late to be asking, but he'd had a lot of time to think on the walk here, which meant he'd had a lot of time to exhaust internal complaints and move on to more productive wonderings.

"Then I guess they'll find out once they get there," Nazir answered simply. There really was no telling how things were going to turn out, but it was a fair guess to say it probably wouldn't end on a good note.

"Won't _that_ go over well," Faulklin sneered. Smirking darkly, he thought aloud, "Maybe it'll become a blood bath. It would certainly make my work easier in the long run. It could even be fun."

As much as Nazir commended the reek of death that came with a successfully completed contract, mindless slaughter was not within his area of approval. If nothing else, then for the simple fact it brought their faction undue trouble, which meant a lot of coin went to erasing the assault and murder charges.

"If a conflict breaks, you're to keep your head down and your hands clean. The war between the Legion and Stormcloaks is none of our business, so don't start anything."

Faulklin rolled his single blue eye. "Whatever."

"I mean it," Nazir warned seriously. "You may be Listener, but you have a lot to learn about how things work."

"Tch. As if I haven't been taught enough of that." He'd been told time and again that it was important he play calm and diplomatic, as if he hadn't heard it enough times, but even so, that really wasn't his style.

Yet, he still found himself made to go, though why _him_ was beyond his understanding. Why couldn't Nazir go by himself? It wasn't as though the Redguard needed him for protection or anything, being one of the most senior surviving members of the Brotherhood, and now it's leader. Normally leadership would be his role, considering his position, but he had no interest in it, so it automatically fell to the next in line, if one could call it that.

Another thought crossed Faulklin's mind, and he couldn't stop himself from scowling deeper if he tried. Which he didn't.

"There's not going to be any damn werewolves there, are there?" he muttered under his breath in complaint. His two second-most-hated group of beings; werewolves, and vampires. Invasive bastards always felt the need to invade his personal space wanting to know about him when they caught wind of his unusual scent, as if it was any of their business.

"The summons was for all four of the guilds in Skyrim, which includes the Companions," Nazir stated in a matter-of-fact baritone. "So it wouldn't be an unfair guess to assume one of them will be there."

"Just fucking perfect," Faulklin spat under his breath. "I hate werewolves. Damn dogs don't know when to keep their noses' out of where they don't belong."

Nazir gave him a pointed look of warning as they came closer to the main gate.

"Just remember to mind yourself in there. Things are going to be tense enough with both the leaders of the Legion and Stormcloaks present. We don't need to add to it and get ourselves or our group into any unnecessary trouble, especially with the eyes of every major force in Skyrim upon us."

"Yeah, yeah, I heard you the other hundreds of times you told me on the way here," Faulklin brushed off belligerently, rolling his single eye. "Nice to know you have _so much_ faith in me."

Nazir ignored him as they approached the main gates. There were more guards than the Redguard could remember ever being stationed outside the main walls, as if they were prepared and ready for a huge attack. Some he wasn't even sure were regular guards. A few he was sure he'd seen before that were farmhands and traders. He noticed one of the khajiit caravans was also camped much farther away from the city than usual.

A glance towards the Whiterun stables told him that likely neither Legion nor Stormcloak had arrived at their steps just yet. Even so, the upcoming meeting clearly had the entire city on a very precarious edge. He'd be sure that they didn't do anything further to make anyone nervous.

When they reached the innermost gate, they were stopped by two regular guards.

"Halt! I think I've seen you before... What purpose do you have here in Whiterun?"

"We're here on business, to answer a summons at Dragon's Reach," Nazir explained, producing the letter which had been sent to the Brotherhood by courier and showing it to the guard. The man took it and glanced over its contents before looking back up at the two.

"I remember now, the summon for the guilds' meeting. You're both a part of the Brotherhood, am I right?" he questioned with a note of harshness to his voice. He hummed in thought before handing the parchment back with reluctance. "Well...alright, you can go through, but I have my eye on both of you. Conduct any business that deals in blades and blood while in our city, and you'll have me to answer to."

"We'll keep that in mind," Nazir replied calmly as he folded the summons letter and tucked it into hiding again, completely unintimidated by the thinly veiled threat. Walking forward as the gates were opened by the guards to let them through, he made certain to shove Faulklin ahead of him, in case the headstrong youth got it in his mind to take the guard's words as a personal challenge of some kind. It earned him a dirty look, but nothing more.

"Well he seemed like a pleasant fellow," Faulklin sneered under his breath, dogging Nazir's steps up through the Cloud District until they came to Dragon's Reach, the other guards who patrolled the city eyeing them suspiciously the entire way.

Admittedly, even for the mouthy and often complaining teen, the warm air that wafted from within Dragon's Reach was welcoming compared to the always-frigid air of the vast majority of Skyrim. The crackle of fire was a welcomed sound as the two made their way up the steps at the entrance, sitting front-and-center within the throne room chamber while long wood tables sat on either side of it, five chairs to each.

Idly the teen wondered if it would be enough to seat everyone, though he supposed that depended on whether either the Stormcloaks and Legion only brought themselves and their bodyguards or their whole damn army.

 _Maybe if we're lucky, they'll fight to the death over who gets to sit down and finish their stupid war right here_ , he couldn't help but think wistfully.

Already it appeared as though some of the seats were taken, the Mages from the College having already arrived. One was a High Elf woman with auburn hair and ghostly skin, marked more by her enchanted robes than anything, though there was something guarded and fearful about her eyes and stance that Faulklin noticed in a heartbeat. The other was another Redguard, but much closer to his own age rather than an adult, distracted by something unseen, most likely his own thoughts.

Nazir cast them a look as well as he took a seat at the table opposite, regarding the female leader of the College with a slight incline of his head.

"You must be the new Arch-Mage I've been hearing about," he regarded her stoicly. "A pleasure to meet you."

For his part, Faulklin remained silent, taking a seat next to the Redguard assassin in a noticable _'I really don't want to be here'_ slouch, not bothering to remove the hood of his large black cowl and keeping his face draped in shadow, save for his pale-lipped scowl which was still visible, and a glimpse of the long scar on his face.

When the doors opened again, heralding the arrival of another member to their meeting, Nazir gazed over at the wolf-skin clad woman with blond hair who approached. Accompanying her was an Orc in heavy armor and a pet wolf.

Since it was obviously not a procession of either Legion or Stormcloak forces, and they didn't appear to be representatives for the Thieves Guild either by attire or familiar faces, he could only guess which faction the two newest belonged to. It was confirmed when one of the guards let them through, speaking, "Hail Harbinger!"

"And that must be the representative for the Companions," he announced needlessly, more making a casual observation to all present.

Faulklin groaned under his breath and slid further down in his seat, looking more the part of a petulant child than even before.

"Great. Damn dogs were invited to the party after all," he muttered, his complaints mutteredly quietly but not so quietly they couldn't be heard. Maybe if he kept sliding down in his seat, he could sneak away unseen.

"And who are you lot?" the Companion woman demanded with intensity in her voice. No surprise, if she was what Nazir suspected.

"We are here representing the Dark Brotherhood," Nazir introduced on their behalf, since Faulklin would never be persuaded to bother with such formalities anyway. He didn't give their names, for good reason.

"I am Irilwe," the High-Elf introduced, suddenly more at attention and sounding too stuffy for Faulklin's liking. Leave it to a High Elf to think themselves all self-important. "I'm the present Arch-Mage at the College of Winterhold."

"And I'm Darinel, a student at the College, here to help represent!" the younger Redguard introduced with a beaming grin, seeming to have an even higher attitude of self-importance, in Faulklin's own opinion. "It's nice to meet you."

"Nice to meet you too. I am Astasl, Harbinger of the Companions." She directed to her Orc follower with a deft wave of her hand. "Gashum is my shield-brother, and our wolf friend is Rogsha."

"A pleasure," Nazir offered up with a respectful dip of his head.

Rogsha - Faulklin noticed, since, to him, the animal was the only presence really worth paying attention to - stopped part way towards their seats and hackled, raising a low growl and fangs in his direction as if it had just now spotted an unwelcomed intruder in its own den, standing still and alert. As much as he preferred the company of animals, this was exactly why he didn't want to be here, considering he wasn't the only one to notice the wolf's behavior.

The Orc - Faulklin had already forgotten his name. It didn't matter whether or not he remembered it anyway - eyed him and circled towards an empty seat with the pace and rigidness of skulking around a dangerous predator that he hadn't yet decided if he should face it head-on or not. Rogsha followed him with the same wary pace, claws clicking against wood floorboards.

"I don't like that one..." the Orc muttered at the woman who came with him, slowly pulling out a seat and sitting down. She seemed less intimidated, resting a hand on the bristling wolf's shoulders in a show of reassurance and laughing softly.

"You worry too much. He is small and we are fierce." It was a judgment he was beyond used to hearing. She took a seat as well, far less intimidated by him. He was used to that too, but at least his presence managed to elicit what he thought was a more appropriate response from the Orc and his pet, even if it was attention the brunette hadn't wanted in the first place.

"So, we know the names of the mages. What is it you assassins call yourselves?" the blond Companion woman questioned, unashamedly direct.

"None of your damn business," Faulklin barked, hoping to rattle her like he had her fellows with a glare that threatened murder. It didn't have the intended effect.

"Ru-u-ude," the Redguard mage drawled, turning his attention to the Companions and butting in with, "Hey, by any chance, do either of you know Conjuration magick?"

"I know Conjuration," the woman said, causing the younger mage to perk up excitedly, "But I do not _know_ Conjuration, you know?"

"Oh..." the Redguard boy huffed, looking past her at the Orc. "What about you?"

"I only know how to cast Restoration," the Orc gruffed.

Attention turned to Nazir then, who didn't even need be asked. One glance was enough. "Boy, do I _look_ like a mage to you?"

He didn't even bother trying to ask Faulklin, though he did give the other boy a quick look as if he was considering it. Blowing out a breath, the Redguard likewise sulked in his seat.

"Maybe one of the Thieves then... when they actually arrive anyway."

As if on-cue, the doors opened and in walked three new arrivals, each dressed in black clothing lined in pouches and bandoliers, marking them as members of the Thieves. One appeared to be a Nord male with long red hair who Faulklin recognized as Brynjolf. Another was a Dark Elf woman with brown hair whom he had no recollection of seeing before. The last appeared to be a Breton woman who might have been familiar, but he couldn't be certain.

"Good to see you all made it here, Brynjolf, Karliah, Riaien," Nazir greeted cordially.

"No surprise seeing you here," Brynjolf greeted, gaze sliding past him and at Faulklin, taking a few seconds to recognize him. "And you as well. Good to see you, lad. Making it to the big leagues now, eh?"

Faulklin returned his gaze, but couldn't be bothered with a reply. Not with so many people around at this point, making him increasingly uncomfortable.

"Still as quiet as ever, too."

Nazir laughed aloud at Faulklin's expense. "Now there's a concept." Anyone else would have gotten a serious threat for the comment.

"Looks as though all of the prominent guilds have successfully gathered," the Dark Elf woman observed, scanning the room. "Now all that's left is for the Legion and Stormcloak's representatives to appear."

"Assuming they don't kill each other at the gate," the Breton scoffed.

Faulklin almost hoped they would. Actually, forget the 'almost'.

Brynjolf seemed less interested in that and more at the other Redguard boy. "Good to see you're here as well. You still working on those destruction spells of yours?"

"No way. I got those down already. I'm like a professional at that already. Now I'm trying to get the hang of conjuring."

"You don't say," Brynjolf mused in interest.

"Do you know any conjuration stuff you could teach me?" the dark-skinned boy asked eagerly.

"Afraid I'm going to have to disappoint you," Brynjolf hummed. "I've never had much of a talent for the magick arts."

"What sort of conjuration?" the Breton Thief cut in.

"Anything, really, but I'm working on conjuring familiars," he explained, punching the air a good few times as he continued, "I want to be able to summon me one of those killer Frost Atronochs to fight at my side, you know?"

"Ah, I'm afraid familiars aren't really my territory. If you need any help with spectral weaponry, maybe I can give you a few good pointers," she suggested.

"Really? Awesome!"

And that was the point where Faulklin shut out the conversation entirely. Most of it was small talk and pleasantries anyway, none of which interested him. He'd rather be anywhere else, but managed to stay put by tugging his hood down over his face and pretending to sleep with his arms crossed over his chest. At least then, no one would trouble him, though he wasn't sure how he could make his distaste of all their company any clearer unless he just outright killed one of them - which was a very tempting thought.

At some point, the doors to the castle opened and the conversation died down. There were several pairs of feet walking up the steps, so the one-eyed brunette could only guess that one of the two remaining groups had finally arrived.

"Ah, good. You were all able to make it." The voice was weathered and held a slightly higher pitch to it, as well as an err of authority.

A brief glance at the armor told him that it was someone in the Legion, meaning the Empire got here before the Stormcloaks. No blood, so he assumed they hadn't crashed into each other on the way and had a conflict. How unfortunate.

"Greetings, Guildmasters. I've arranged this meeting hoping I could sway you to the side of the Legion. You knew that much already, but I think it's best that I state so bluntly. Our intentions are no secret," the more elaborately-armored man - probably a General - stated.

"No shit," Faulklin spat, announcing that he was indeed awake and slightly taking the older soldier by surprise with his brash words.

"Yes, well..." the General said, clearing his throat a little before continuing. "As an imperial soldier, my solemn duty is to every citizen of the Empire. I belie-" A knock resonated throughout the longhouse, interrupting his little speech. "Must be a straggler. You there, soldier, go open the door and see who it is."

"Yes sir," a young man replied, obeying and sauntering to the door.

"Now, as I was saying..." the General began again, only to be interrupted once more.

"S-sir!"

"What is it now?" the General demanded, turning around and freezing for a moment, before quickly grabbing the hilt of a sword at his side. "Ulfric! You dare show your face here and now of all places?! What is the meaning of this?!"

"My business here is my own. I would ask you to mind your own, but I know your type aren't very good at that," Ulfric barked in reply, looking equal parts surprised, annoyed, and hostile to have likewise run into the Imperial soldier on top of the four major guilds.

"I don't know how a person can be so dense," Tullius responded, flabergasted. "This is a private meeting, _and I did not invite you_. It is that simple. If you intend to keep your head on your neck, I suggest you walk right back through that door." He momentarily glanced back at the assembled guilds as if suspecting one of them might be Stormcloak sympathizers and this had all been part of some ambush plot.

It was at that point which Faulklin let out a dry little laugh, straightening up in his seat slightly.

"Dinner _and_ a show. Looks like both Legion and Stormcloaks remembered to invite everyone but each other, like the typical competent forces they are," he mused aloud sarcastically, sounding almost hopeful at the idea of the tension escalating and heads truly rolling. He gave Nazir a glare as the Redguard cleared his throat in warning, the teen rolling his single eye.

"What my colleague here means to say, is: it seems both sides seem to have come to similar arrangements of meeting, coincidentally on the same day, no less, and for what reasons I'm sure will be made clear to us soon enough."

"Oh, _sure._ 'Coincidentally'." The Imperial clearly wasn't believing a word of that. "Well do excuse me, if our blades _coincidentally_ find your head, Ulfric."

"General Tulius!" All parties froze as a blond man appeared, walking towards the empty throne in the room. "You will not be fighting _your_ war in my halls. You assured me this would be a meeting of peace."

"I did," Tulius replied. "But that was before I knew this _scoundrel_ would come waltzing in, acting as though he owns the place himself!"

"And what of you, Tulius?" Ulfric returned haughtily, raising his nose in disdain. "I could ask you what you think you are doing here, at _my_ meeting. I don't recall including you in my _guest_ list."

"Of all the-"

"Enough!" the blond-bearded man snarled. "Neither of you will bring your fighting into _my_ city, or so help me, I will throw both sides straight over the walls, and there will be no meeting at all."

Tulius and Ulfric both glared each other down, too prideful to admit defeat readily, but they did eventually, reluctantly, lower any drawn weapons.

"Out of respect for being a guest in Jarl Balgruuf's halls, I'll stay my blade, _for now_. Should you make the slightest suspicious move, however, don't expect any mercy. Now get out."

"Why should I be made to leave a meeting that _I_ arranged?" Ulfric challenged stubbornly.

"Keep your filthy tongue behind your teeth. This was a meeting that _I_ called for."

"If I may interject," Nazir spoke, breaking their chain of argument. "It was actually both sides which arranged for this, apparently unaware of each other's actions, if I may say so."

"That's impossible," Tulius growled. "In the same place? On the same day? I don't buy it."

"Believe whatever you wish," Ulfric growled, not taking kindly to the accusation. "It doesn't make that my arrangement was made entirely unaware of yours any less true."

"Regardless," Balgruuf interrupted, overpowering them both with the authority in his voice. "Both of you did arrange to meet. If you choose to leave, now that you are both here, probably all the better. Any man who chooses to go against my wishes, and start a war in _my_ Hold, will have to answer to not only myself, but every warrior in Whiterun, and we'll end the conflict ourselves here and now for both of you."

"Bold words," Tulius warned, but he didn't appear stupid enough to insight a possible second rebellion. "However, I'm a man of my word. I agreed that this will be a bloodless meeting, and it shall be."

"Wise choice. Wiser than I would expect," Ulfric antagonized, walking past with several of his own men and women in tow and finding the very last open seat, if only to thumb his nose at Tulius. "We'll see if it lasts the day."


	4. Chapter 4

**The Daedric Wager  
A Skyrim Fanfiction**

* * *

Darinel watched the Legionnaires and Stormcloaks shuffle about trying to find proper seating before this meeting - likely to end in disaster - could get underway.

Jarl Balgruuf barked at both Tulius and Ulfric to dismiss their men outside to wait, so that the two war-leaders couldn't sick each other's soldiers on each other, then thought better of having both side's forces all waiting together just outside the door, and ordered his guard to escort the Empire's soldiers to the kitchen on one side of the building and Ulfric's men to wait in his court mage's study on the opposite side, both under guard by his own men.

That left only each military leader and their direct representing officer beneath them. Even so, there weren't quite enough chairs and table space without someone giving up their seat, so in the end only the top leaders of each group had a chair, their representatives standing just behind their leaders. At least... most of them. The shorter figure clad in black robes put up a bit more distance between themself and the rest of the meeting, finding a bench against the far wall.

With the way Tulius and Ulfric glared at each other from opposite tables, he'd be severely surprised if everyone left without a sword in their gut by the end of things.

"So then," Tulius began somewhat awkwardly, unable to take his eyes off of Ulfric. "To begin again what I was saying, before being so rudely interrupted..."

"And what makes you think you get rights to speak first, you damn Imperial?" the man behind Ulfric growled, already causing a stir.

"Watch your tongue, damn traitor!" a woman behind Tulius barked in return.

"Enough, Legate Rikke," Tulius ordered. "I can speak on my own behalf. I have rights to speak first because I was here first, and because I am representing the Empire and the Emperor, of whom Skyrim belongs to."

"Skyrim is not yours," Ulfric countered. "It belongs rightfully to _us_ , the Nords, regardless of any sense of entitlement you people may have."

"So we've heard, time and again," Tulius sneered. "That doesn't make what you say any more true."

"And what if we went to _your_ cities in Cyrodiil, tried to take away and rule _your_ lands and take away _your_ Akatosh?"

"You dare-!"

Balgruuf was massaging his temple and rolling his eyes. "Enough! Discuss what you came here to discuss, or be gone from my halls."

Both Tulius and Ulfric fell into a silent stalemate.

Darinel was starting to wish he'd never showed up. He was missing out on a lot of precious practice time to work on his Conjuration spells. He was still severely disappointed that out of all the groups to show up, not one was a conjurer of familiars he could study under, even for a short time.

"Well, since Tulius and his soldiers were the first to arrive," the Redguard assassin - who Darinel had not gotten the name of - suggested lightly, "They should go first?" When Ulfric gave the man a dirty look, he continued, "Then the Stormcloaks can have their say directly afterwards, before anyone gives an answer."

"Fair enough," Tulius hummed. "...I suppose."

Ulfric didn't look as if he agreed, but the man said nothing.

When no one opposed, Tulius tried again.

"Well its no mystery to anyone at this point why we're all here... or at least, most of us." Tulius gave Ulfric a last glance. Balgruuf deliberately cleared his throat. "We're here today to discuss a special joining of forces to benefit the end of this war, between ourselves..." he paused, not-so-discreetly motioning towards Ulfric and the man behind him. "...and the Stormcloaks."

Darinel cast a sidelong glance towards Ulfric, wondering if they had known that Tulius called for a meeting for the exact same reason. The deep-set frown that creased his lips and furrow-browed glare spoke otherwise, as well as the suspicion alighted in his eyes.

Had both groups really arranged a meeting for the same place and time, for the same exact reason, entirely unaware to each other? Maybe it was Ulfric who came up with the plan first and it had been leaked... some kind of double-agent business or something. Or maybe it was Ulfric who knew and was simply good at looking as if he was just as surprised as anyone else...? It was difficult the say, though.

"Its a known fact that, while residents of the Empire, the Thieves, Brotherhood, College, and Companions have always generally acted independently... for better or worse. I think its high time that they collaborate with us, and now could not possibly be a better time."

There was a bark of laughter that rattled everyone's attention from Tulius's speech, the old General turning in his seat to look at the smaller black-cloaked figure that sat away from the main group, while Legate Rikke looked deeply offended.

"You think something is funny?" Legate Rikke demanded, looking as though she wanted to draw her sword but still too aware of Balgruuf to do so.

"You damn Legion cogs sure have some nerve," the black-cloaked male sneered.

"What was that?"

"You killed most of our members, burned and blew apart our sanctuary, even after you told our former bitch leader you would leave the rest if they only handed over one among them, and you have the audacity to act as if we should simply join up and be all buddy-buddy with your _precious Empire_? Get bent!"

"I'm aware of what the Penitus Oculatus dealt," Tulius replied, surprisingly calm in Darinel's opinion considering the biting words. He glanced over at the black-clad figure, unable to help but squint. He was _sure_ he recognized the other guy from somewhere... it was hard to say for sure though, with how he was dressed. Not from the College... maybe Riften? "However, their operations were entirely independent from me. I had no say in what they did or didn't do to the Brotherhood. You should consider that-"

"Ha! Keep your half-assed persuasions. I'm not interested. If anything, it'd make more sense to take _his_ side," referring to Ulfric, obviously. "You both want an end to this war? Then I'll just cut your damn throat right here and now."

"Knock it off!" the older Redguard snapped, clearly trying to maintain at least _some_ semblance of diplomacy, much to Darinel's relief. He didn't fancy the thought of getting caught up in a blood bath. "This isn't the time for your personal vendettas. I apologize, General Tulius. Pay him no mind."

"Taking his side now?" the younger snarked confrontationally.

The Redguard gave him another look of warning. "Not. Now."

"I... know that there must be quite a number of unresolved problems between the Legion and some of your groups. The Brotherhood especially," Tulius interjected tactfully. "However, now would be the time to resolve past grievances, rather than to pointlessly spill more blood."

"Why?" Ulfric cut in. "So that you can do the same again? Wipe them out as you tried to do already once before?"

Darinel frowned. They really weren't going to give up antagonizing each other, were they? Was it really so hard for them to simply sit and try to have _one_ civil conversation instead of fight?

His brother _died_ just so these old fossils could throw tantrums at each other over and over, not caring who got hurt by their childish spats? He self-consciously shoved his hands into his pockets, clenching his fists at his sides.

Tulius at least seemed to be holding himself together more maturely than Ulfric. Had the General known his brother, or had he simply been another piece of expendable fodder to fuel the flames? Suddenly the urge to ask about it was overwhelming, but here and now wasn't the proper place for that. He silently decided he would try and catch the man after the meeting though, and hoped he wouldn't regret asking.

"You, who would oust or murder all but the Nords from this land, have no say, Ulfric _Stormcloak_ ," Tulius told him coldly and confidently. "Look around you: how many Nords do you see here? If you're here for the same reason as I am, then your offer holds little power. What will _you_ do? Have them fight your battles and die for you, then banish the rest who don't share your Nordic blood?"

"Ironic," Ulfric returned, "that you would talk to _me_ of betraying those who might be at my back, after the Markarth Incident. I fought on behalf of the Empire. Good men died taking back that city from the Forsworn. All we asked for was the freedom to worship Talos again, but you betrayed us all. Or are you going to tell me that you can bring them all back from the dead and make things right again?"

"We aren't here for the two of you to bicker and squabble all day with an audience," Irilwe interrupted, her patience past broken with the entire affair. Darinel couldn't help but silently agree. Did they come here to meet, or to fight it out right here?

"Indeed," Tulius barked sharply. "Then let's not waste any more of our time with unsavory company. All of you have been informed of the purpose of this meeting. I assume some of you may be ready to cast your vote."

"I do believe that at least one group already has," Ulfric stated smugly, looking past Tulius at the black-clad character helping to represent the Brotherhood.

"My compatriot is not the be-all end-all of decisions for the Brotherhood," the older Redguard interrupted. "I am."

"So..." Tulius prompted. "Where do your decisions lie?"

Astasl the Harbinger was the first to answer. "We have no qualms with fighting," she shrugged, tilting her head. "But why should we fight for you when we can fight for ourselves?"

Tulius spread his palms up on either side in a sort of half-shrug. "Are you telling me you can't do both at once?"

Astasl waved him off in disinterest. "It is not our interest unless you make it so. So make it so, or we will not."

"Tulius..." Irilwe began. "I can understand why you might summon the other guilds for this purpose, but we are a College, not an army, located on the outermost fringes of the land for a _reason_. We are quite content to let you deal with your war. Its no business of ours."

"It will become your business when Ulfric marches on your halls and demand your allegiance," Tulius countered. "You especially should be worried, considering you are a High Elf."

"Yes, I'm no stranger to Ulfric marching in on people uninvolved in the war and demanding their loyalty," Irilwe growled. "You must think us too sheltered in our study halls though that we might not be aware that you have done the same."

Tulius looked taken aback by her words. "I don't believe I follow..."

"Just because we are isolated doesn't mean we don't hear what is happening outside of Winterhold. What wanderers and bandits that managed to slip away from your conquests have come trickling in, little by little seeking refuge."

"Aye," Brynjolf finally voiced. "Us too. Its no news to any of us that both your sides have been sending out war parties and sieges on old forts and caves... to every nook and cranny of Skyrim, really, demanding that those holed up there join or die to bolster your numbers."

"And those that manage to slip by your grasps come to us, looking for protection and somewhere they won't be killed or forced into a war they never asked for," Karliah added.

Darinel was aware of it too, though he was mildly surprised that they weren't the only ones that had more of an influx than usual of people who wanted to join up with their faction. So both the Thieves and College were turning into safe pockets for refugees. He eyed Astasl and the assassins, wondering if they had the same thing happening in their groups as well.

"We have had many new faces to our ranks," Astasl confirmed.

For a brief flicker, Darinel thought he read a look of worry momentarily cross Tulius and Ulfric's faces. No doubt the prospect of forming alliances with the guilds before their opposing side could win favor was much heavier than they'd first anticipated.

"And what of you, Redguard?" Ulfric wondered aloud, since no one else was saying it, and the man wasn't giving up such information without being prompted.

"We may have had a couple of new recruits... but its really no one else's business. Its not as though we're forming an army or anything."

Somehow Darinel suspected those words did the exact opposite of bring comfort to either of the two military leaders.

"Well... as citizens of the Empire, it is your obligation to defend your homes and territories from threats which disrupt stability and order, and at worst, your own very lives."

"There you go with the self-entitlement again," the black-clad assassin snarked. Tulius ignored him.

"So... do any of you have an answer for me?"

"Not an answer," Irilwe hummed. "A question."

"Go ahead," Tulius nodded.

"What will you do if we refuse to join your crusade?"

Darinel was watching Tulius like a hawk. Surely, no one could simply force them to join in this war and pick sides? If they had wanted to get involved, they already would have. Still, he didn't like the grim look of resignation that he read on the old General's face. It was not the kind of resignation of a man giving up on convincing someone of his views, but one of conceding himself to less brag-worthy means to an end, regardless of whether it was right or wrong.

"I expect that whatever your choice, it will be the right one... at least let us hope it will be."

"We've heard what both of you have to say," Riaien said neutrally. "This decision is not a light one. What would you say to permitting us more time, before giving you an answer? We may be the leaders of our respective factions, but we don't really have the power to dictate what every individual in our guilds will do. This seems like the kind of thing best left up to a majority vote."

"I suppose that is acceptable," Tulius agreed, reluctant but trying to compromise and win favor.

"And how long must we wait to hear this answer?" Ulfric questioned, clipped. "After all, it would be too convenient to avoid an answer indefinitely..."

"For once, I may actually agree with you on something, Ulfric," Tulius muttered, clearly unhappy but not so prideful as to not admit he felt the same, now that it was already spoken so openly.

"You gave us two weeks to gather," Karliah suggested. "Two weeks more to gather all of our members and put it to a vote should be plenty. Do the rest of you agree?" she asked, looking around at each group. Brynjolf and Riaien nodded their agreement.

"I've waited twenty-four years to see proper justice done," Ulfric huffed. "I can wait two more weeks."

"We can make decision in this time," Astasl agreed carelessly, looking bored and fidgety with the entire event, not caring to hide it.

"The same goes for us," the other Redguard agreed.

The last to speak of it was Irilwe, remaining silent until too many expectant eyes were on her, looking for an answer. "I will... discuss it with the students and professors," she finally relented unhappily. "But don't expect too much. We're a school, and we've never held an interest in such conflicts."

"Very well," Tulius concluded, appearing at the very least placated with the results, since there were no definite 'No' answers yet. Still, Darinel didn't foresee the College agreeing to such a thing, and he wondered just how badly things might end up for them as a result. "Two weeks, then. Should I expect a face-to-face answer?"

"That all depends on what decisions we come to," Brynjolf answered for everyone tactfully. There was no point in showing up in-the-flesh to say no, when they might be threatened with prison or executions. "Thank you both, for the invitation. We will take your offers into careful consideration, and update you both as to our verdicts in the near future."

Now that everyone had said their pieces, many were quick to seek an exit, before Stormcloaks and Legion could possibly start a battle right inside Dragon's Reach.

"Come on, Darinel," Irilwe directed, eager to leave. "The reek of war doesn't suit our kind."

"Hold up just a moment," Darinel stopped her, keen eyes still keenly focused on Tulius. He wasn't going to leave without getting _some_ kind of answer from the man. "I'll be there in just a little bit."

"Fine," she sighed. "But don't take too long."

He nodded, approaching cautiously. He wasn't sure exactly what to think of Tulius, but he wasn't sure that he liked the man. From what he'd been able to see and hear from the meeting, he wasn't sure how well it sat in his conscience knowing that his brother might have died under the command of such a person, or if his brother was even regarded as anyone worth remembering.

"Um... General Tulius?"

The man glanced in surprise at the Redguard boy, a spark of hope in his eyes, no doubt thinking that perhaps he was going to volunteer himself. He had no such intentions, and he didn't predict that changing at all no matter the answer he got.

"What is it, son?"

"Um... my brother..." he began, struggling to grasp at how he should approach the subject. "My older brother... he fought for the Legion a few years ago." He licked his lips apprehensively, suggesting "Triius Reisly?" and hoping it might sound familiar.

"Triius Reisly..." Tulius repeated, and Darinel's hopes rose at the look and sound of recognition. "Yes, I know who you're talking about. He was a fine soldier... lots of potential! I guess I shouldn't expect much else from a Redguard though."

"So you knew him?" Darinel couldn't quite keep the hope and pride from his voice.

"Knew him? I promoted him! He fought directly under myself and Legate Rikke at least a couple of times. I suspect he would have gone quite high into the rankings in no time at all, but unfortunately his contributions ended at Praefect. Still, it was a good rank for him. He was quite the natural leader."

Darinel hummed, pleased and prideful that his brother held such high praise with the Legion general, but there was that little prick in the back of his mind that whispered Tulius might be playing his late older brother up more than he really meant, trying to recruit him away from the Stormcloak's side. He didn't doubt his older brother's abilities, or that he really was that good, he simply wasn't sure that Tulius's admiration was genuine.

"Thank you, sir," Darinel said gratefully, before turning and dashing to meet up with Irilwe before he could be bombarded with pressure to join up. Maybe Tulius meant it, but he wasn't naïve enough to dismiss ulterior motive, and he had no interest in the same war that took his only brother and greatest role model away from him and his mother.

Let them fight and kill each other, but leave _him_ and the rest of his family and friends out of it.


	5. Chapter 5

**The Daedric Wager  
A Skyrim Fanfiction**

* * *

Riaien sighed and brushed a lock of dark hair behind one ear. "Quite the incoming problem we have on our hands..." They were away from Dragon's Reach and the Cloud District now, but she was still mindful of the volume of her voice as they headed for the main gates and the stables beyond. She huffed unhappily. "Some _invitation_. They might as well be holding daggers to our throats."

"It can't be helped," Karliah said alongside her, resigned more than anything. "Something like this was bound to happen eventually, with the way things have been going. We've gotten through worse. It won't be the end of us."

The short, black-clad assassin laughed darkly somewhere a few steps ahead of them, walking faster than anyone as if he couldn't wait to put the city to his back. Riaien already sensed incoming cynicism.

"You should learn from the Brotherhood's mistakes," he sneered, tilting his head back over his shoulder slightly. "The last time they struck a `deal` with any kind of guild, it was almost at the cost of every life within it."

Riaien could definitely sympathize with the boy's reasoning for resentment. Still, the foul attitude looked to her more like a permanent state of personality, rather than solely a bitter hatred towards only the Legion. Maybe she was wrong on that, but she doubted that to be the case.

"I'm not very fond of these developments either," Irilwe agreed with a deep-set frown. Riaien could understand why, even if the Elf hadn't voiced her reasons already. The College was a place of learning, not a place of war.

It made sense for them to insist on help from the Thieves, Brotherhood, and Companions.

The Thieves were located in Riften, which was Stormcloak territory - if the Stormcloaks had them on their side, they only further held their presence there, but if the Legion gained allyship with the Thieves, they had allies behind enemy lines, which meant they could more easily reclaim that territory, even if only through passed on information and stolen reports.

The Brotherhood was on obvious one. They could send assassins over to take out military officers, perhaps even Ulfric himself, to turn the tides of the war, and from what she knew of them, the Brotherhood's home was nearly impenetrable to launch a proper attack if the Stormcloak's learned of their involvement, or vica versa.

And as for the Companions, it would give either side a chance to take Whiterun, rather than let it remain entirely neutral n the conflict. They would have an excuse to have a presence there, even if they couldn't get the warrior guild to agree to fight their battles.

All of those guilds had great advantages, not only with bolstering numbers, but tactically as well.

The College? The only use would be to have mages on their side, but likely few of them would be interested in fighting. The Legion might like it simply to have territory a little closer to Windhelm, but that was about the only other possible reason, and it wasn't a very good one. Winterhold was too remote and run-down to be of any real tactical use, unless they really wanted to brave the harshest environment rebuilding it with buildings and walls around the place, which would take too long to be of much benefit anyway.

"Likely neither of the groups will have much use for the College," Riaien offered, hoping to be reassuring. "You might take their offer only to keep them placated?"

Irilwe scoffed. "If I take the offer from one side, the other will attack us, and if I agree, they will expect us to fight." She did have a good point. "I've already made my decision."

But could they withstand a siege from both sides? Riaien wondered about that.

"And what of you?" Astasl questioned, having followed them despite that she and her companions very well could have gone back to Jorrvaskr. Riaien suspected - from the looks the Orc was casting towards the black-clad assassin boy - that it was because they wanted to make sure the other groups left. Perhaps the Brotherhood more than anyone else.

Riaien shrugged. "It depends on what the rest of the guild decides on. It would make the most sense, location-wise, for us to take up the Stormcloak's offer, if we take a side at all, but it depends on what benefit both sides would give us and which offers more." The Thieves were, after all, a group that was about profit first and foremost.

"All the same, we'd like to remain uninvolved," Karliah added. "But I fear trying to do so will have both coming to our doorstep armed for war against us as well."

"Aye," Brynjolf agreed. "They're not likely to simply let us off the hook. Just as the Arch-mage said though, if we join one side, the other will target us more than ever, and chances are they won't let us remain idle to their cause when we join one side or the other. On the plus side, since both of their presences were here and made themselves felt, we can probably negotiate both sides until we get the best deal of them possible."

"That's true..." Riaien agreed. She didn't foresee the Thieves not taking a side, it was simply a matter of getting the best spoils out of choosing an alliance, and since both sides seemed so worried to lose to the other, that gave them a lot of leverage. If they played the game especially smart, they could even walk away with the prizes and avoid the fighting. After all, they _were_ still thieves.

"So what of the Companions and the Brotherhood? What are your takes on this?" Brynjolf wondered as they arrived at the stables.

"That all depends," Nazir hummed. "If the pay is good, then we'll do the jobs they ask, but it has to be worth our whiles."

Similar boat as the Thieves, then. Riaien hadn't expected much else, though.

"Of course, whether or not we actually pick sides... that's another matter."

"If we pick sides, it certainly as Oblivion won't be with the Legion," the other assassin hissed, facing elsewhere.

"You don't get to decide that," Nazir admonished.

"Then leave me out of it," they snapped in response. "The only business I want with the Legion is removing their heads from their shoulders. Anyone who hates them and hates the Forsworn is a lot more worth doing a job for in my book."

Divided loyalties? _That could be a problem._ She knew first-hand already exactly what kind of damage something like divided loyalties and treachery could do. She wondered if she should discuss it, either with Brynjolf and Karliah or even with Nazir himself.

Still, she didn't think she would need to. The Redguard looked like he knew that fact all too well with the look of exasperation and waning patience on his face. For some reason the smaller assassin seemed vaguely familiar, but she supposed that could merely be because the Brotherhood and Thieves did some collaboration work, and the Thieves often procured goods for the Brotherhood when enough coin was involved. It might have only been passing glances.

"Careful, Lad," Brynjolf warned. Riaien couldn't help but think that the tone sounded far too familiar speaking to him. "Making haste judgments like that never ends well."

"Shove your advice," the kid snarled, briefly turning his pale face and showing a snarl, along with a large scar from brow-to-jaw on the left side, though the blue eye on that side was still in-tact. "Nobody asked for it." With that, he whirled and walked off at a rushed pace, black cloak furling behind him.

Nazir sighed audibly. "Regardless of his opinions, he doesn't speak for the rest of the guild. We'll consider what's best for our future and adjust accordingly until this war of theirs blows over one way or another."

It seemed a logical - and thankfully much more level-headed - approach.

"And the Companions?" It was Irilwe this time.

Astasl waved them off. "We have no interest in this fight, but if we must, we may. There has been little for us to do as of late. It may be good for us."

Leave it to a hot-blooded warrior group to be so flippant about their reasons to go to war.

"But to which side?"

"Ysgrimmer and the Companions fought for this land for Nords. It would make sense for us to fight for Stormcloak," she said, before tilting her head to the side as if considering the other side of things. "Though Companions are not all Nord. Many shield-brothers and sisters are of other men and mer. We will only fight for Stormcloak if they are welcome as well. We will discuss and see. Companions fight together or not at all."

 _So the Companions and Thieves are most likely to side with the Stormcloaks. The Brotherhood is undecided... they might even play both sides at the same time. The College is likely to choose neutrality. I suppose it could be worse than this. We could end up divided to both sides, fighting each other._

"I believe that it would be a good idea for us to all discuss with our guilds what we wish to do," Nazir proposed. "Since this concerns both our own futures, as well as whether or not we may or may not have to fight each other, it would probably be in our best interests to meet again before casting our final decision to the Legion or Stormcloaks. I suspect none of us want to end up fighting each other any more than we want to be fighting soldiers."

"That seems an acceptable plan," Irilwe agreed, approving.

Riaien nodded as well. It was a wise decision on Nazir's part, and she saw no disagreement between any of the other guild leaders.

"Where should the place of meeting be?" Karliah inquired. Everyone looked around in indecision, unsure if they should propose the location or let someone else decide.

"Location-wise, probably somewhere either in the Pale or Eastmarch would be best, assuming we want to make travel distance fairly equal for all parties," Nazir suggested. "The Thieves would have to travel the farthest... but what would you all say to Nightgate Inn, at the foot of Mount Anthor between Whiterun and Windhelm?"

They all considered that, some longer than others, before agreeing. It was a neutral enough location, and isolated enough that there wasn't likely to be either Stormcloaks or Legion there to influence their decisions.

"A week from now?" Brynjolf suggested. That would give them time to travel back, discuss and decide, and meet back again. Then they would have another week to either accept or deny alliance with either side.

"Then we're agreed," Nazir announced. "Until then, take care of yourselves."

With that, they turned and left, following the main road. The Thieves took their own horses east, while Nazir and the mages took a carriage heading north towards the Pale and Winterhold.

"Brynjolf."

"Hm?" The red-haired Nord turned his head towards Riaien.

"That smaller assassin seemed familiar. Who was he?"

"Ah, him," Brynjolf nodded. "He was part of the Thieves for a couple of years. Astrid brought him to us - said she wanted him trained proper in the stealth arts before she put him up to the Brotherhood's kind of business since he was so young at the time."

"Really? I hardly remember him..." Maybe the scar - it had looked like a burn - was new. She didn't think she'd forget a feature like that.

"No surprise. He never was the sociable type, even by the Thieves' standards. In fact he was quiet and skittish as a temple mouse."

"I find that hard to believe..." Riaien couldn't help but muse.

"Believe it or otherwise, it was true. Of course, its been a number of years since then. He was around both when you and Darinel were a part of our group, and left us while Mercer Frey was still among our number, before we figured out what he was really like. People do change in that many number of years. Either way, he was good at it. I mean, _really_ good. Almost born for the role, it seemed, but his loyalties were never to the guild. Its a shame he left us for the Brotherhood, but there was nothing to be done for it except to let him go."

Riaien hummed at that, switching topics as they ascended into the hillscape just below the Throat of the World, so they could dodge the Valthiem towers and Eastmarch to save time reaching Riften. "So what about what we're going to do, about this alliance thing? Same plan as you announced back in Whiterun?"

"Aye, most likely," Brynjolf nodded. "Unless you have other ideas you'd like to share?"

"Not at the moment, no..." Riaien admitted. "If it brings us greater wealth, it might be worth our while. Still, we're not a fighting faction. Espionage, maybe, but that will only manage to earn us further enemies we don't need."

"And there is also the matter of Maven," Karliah added. "If we take the Stormcloak's side, I suspect she won't be terribly happy, since she has connections to the Thalmor and attends their parties near Solitude. She may even see us destroyed, or at the very least, cut off ties. All the same, if we take the Legion's side, the Stormcloaks are bound to make a problem for us to ensure the Rift stays in their control."

"And if we remain neutral, both sides will come after us," Riaien lamented.

"I don't think Maven will entirely disagree with playing both sides to our advantage," Brynjolf speculated. "At the same time, it could bring her trouble she doesn't want as well. Any way you look at it, its going to cause us problems. Big problems. We don't have the man-power to fight a full war, even in self-defense."

"I think that's what they're counting on with all of the guilds," Karliah agreed. "None of us want a fight in the first place, and it will be to our great disadvantage if we have to fight one anyway by being disagreeable."

"So no matter how we slice it, we're fucked," Riaien stated bluntly. She wondered if the other guilds were having their own same discussion right now. They couldn't possibly stand up to an entire army on their own, and it was beginning to look like they would be facing one no matter what they chose, because of a war none of them cared to agree with. Even the Companions - who were formed and maintained because of similar ideals to the Stormcloaks that Skyrim was the rightful home of the Nords - didn't full-heartedly agree with them.

 _Even with as many new members as we've gained, we don't stand a chance by ourselves, and the Stormcloaks or Legion might just treat us like fodder to be expended. Have us do their fighting and dirty work, then swoop in for victory when we've made the sacrifices._ She wasn't so dull as to not have considered that an option already. She didn't think her company or any of the other guilds had missed that possibility either, at least not the ones in charge. _They know they could overtake us if they wanted, and they'd probably wipe us all out just to be sure their enemies can't have us. So what do we do?_

She pondered the possibilities and outcomes for a long time. Everything from picking a side to playing both sides to fleeing somewhere else, anything to avoid the backlash of this war and their petty feuds and alliances.

Suddenly it hit her, and she couldn't believe she hadn't thought of another possibility before all of the other guilds had separated and gone on their way home. It was a gamble, and she didn't know if the other groups would be on-board for it, but she thought it was a fair assumption to make that they would all like it more than their current declared options.

"As a matter of fact, Brynjolf, I think I've come up with a much better solution for everyone to consider."


End file.
